MIGCAP
by MTC29
Summary: Naval aviator Harmon Rabb Sr. and his wingman, Tom Boone, battle MiGs in the skies above North Vietnam. In this high risk match of skill, the victor lives, the vanquished dies.
1. Chapter 1

[A/N] This is my second story with JAG characters Harmon Rabb Senior and Tom Boone in Vietnam. Because the TV show took considerable liberties with facts and events, I had to do the same. Nevertheless, this based on true events. I want to thank all the readers of my first story, especially those who left a review and who marked it as a favorite. I am flattered. A special thank you goes to csincisfan01 for graciously allowing me to use her original character, Petty Officer Andrew Thomas, in my stories.

JAG Disclaimer: I own nothing

MIGCAP

Chapter 1

04 December, 1969  
0500 Hotel (Zulu +8)  
_USS Ticonderoga_  
Yankee Station- Tonkin Gulf

The _Ticonderoga _was a floating city, and while on Yankee Station, this city never slept. Sailors worked 12 hour shifts, with most putting in 14 or 15 hours before catching a few hours of sleep. Sometimes it was leaning against a Bulkhead or on the flight deck; anywhere there was a spare minute to get a nap.

The end of the day for some was the beginning for a day for others. Hard working men were always hungry, so meals were served 22 hours a day. As one man finishes his "day" and prepares to get some sleep, another man takes over the job, carrying on the essential work. Some men would fly aircraft, some would launch and arm aircraft, while others would cook, paint, chip rust or work the machinery in the heat of the engineering deck.

There are as many different jobs aboard an aircraft carrier as there are people; each member of the crew contributed his day's work, every day, to the total effort.

Operation Commando Hunt had begun. The objective of the campaign was to prevent personnel and supplies moving along the Ho Chi Minh Trail that ran from North Vietnam through the southeastern portion of the Kingdom of Laos and into South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese moved hundreds of thousands of tons of supplies south along the Trail, and the Navy was working in conjunction with the USAF to bomb the Trail around the clock.

Operation Commando Hunt would become the single most intensive bombing campaign in history, with bombs falling on average every 5 minutes, day and night.

There was no guarantee that today would be the same as yesterday, or that tomorrow would be different. Each man went to his shop, office or watch station ready to meet events head on.

Sunrise on Yankee Station was at 0658, and for the aircraft carriers of Task Force 77 steaming off the North Vietnamese coast, there wasn't a minute of daylight to lose.

* * *

Lieutenants Harmon Rabb Sr. and Tom Boone left the wardroom after finishing their breakfast- the usual preflight meal of steak and eggs, and went to the AI (Aircraft Intelligence) office to receive last minute information on this morning's air operations.

This was going to be an Alpha Strike on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, with nearly every aircraft aboard the _Ticonderoga_ participating.

Timing was crucial. The USAF was bombing the trail from bases located in South Vietnam and Thailand, so areas of control were assigned to the different flights. The _Ticonderoga_ would be launching A-4s and A-7s, and the brand new A-6 Intruders, with top cover above the trail provided by F-4 Phantoms from the _Tico's _two fighter squadrons.

Harm and Tom had been assigned as the second of three flights of F-4's for MIGCAP. They would be protecting the fleet with the E-2 Hawkeye early warning aircraft warning against enemy fighters.

The Hawkeye, which was called Elmer Fudd, was a twin engine propeller plane whose defining feature was a huge rotating radar dome mounted above its fuselage. The E-2 would remain on station and orbit over the Tonkin Gulf for nearly five hours and once airborne, skilled radar operators could track multiple targets over large areas of North Vietnam and provide crucial early warning to friendly aircraft.

Red Crown, the _USS Chicago, _which was cruising the Tonkin Gulf with her escorts, had the most powerful surface to air radar in the US Navy. Controllers on Windy City could track aircraft as far away as Thailand, but the _Chicago's _surface radar had gaps in the mountains along the border with Laos. Mountains which the high flying E-2 Hawkeye could see over.

After leaving AI, Harm and Tom went to their squadron's ready room for more detailed flight information and to discuss their individual responsibilities in the air.

The lead MIGCAP flight was Fairfield One and Two, with Lt. Commander Al "Buster" Cherry in Fairfield One, and Bill "Rooster" Ross in Fairfield Two.

Al Cherry was deputy squadron leader, and he had more stick time than any aviator in VF-111. Cherry had mixed it up with MiGs before. He was an aggressive pilot, and well respected in the squadron.

Bill Ross's wife Vicki, and Harm's wife Trish were best friends, but wives and girlfriends were a long way from the Tonkin Gulf.

Cherry and Ross would launch first. After taking up position to block any enemy aircraft moving south, they would be joined by Harm and Tom, and then by a third flight of two F-4s. Two more Phantoms would sit manned and ready on the _Ticonderoga's _deck, waiting to be launched if needed.

Sweating it out in the sweltering heat of the exposed flight deck was the assignment which no one wanted. This morning Gary "Grits" Grissom and Tony "Tinker" Taylor drew the duty.

This would be a long mission for the Phantoms, and to ensure that at least two F-4s were always providing cover, the six fighter aircraft on MIGCAP would take turns tanking with the whale, a KA-3B piloted by Lt. Harold "Prince" Phillips.

Phillips and Tom Boone had a history, and it wasn't good.

Although fighters on MIGCAP rarely encountered a MiG, naval aviators train for hundreds of hours for this type of mission, and there was excitement at the possibility of putting that training into practice.

* * *

After Harm and Tom and gotten into their flight gear, they made their way from the ready room up to the flight deck to pre flight their aircraft. On the way, they bumped into Master Chief Davis, who was on his way to flight ops.

Aviation Boatswain's Mate Master Chief Donald Davis oversaw every aspect of the ship's flight deck systems: operating and maintaining the catapults and the arresting gear, aircraft handling, as well as the barricades, and the firefighting and rescue equipment. Davis would be on the flight deck during preparations for the beginning of the day's flight ops, and then go up in the island and oversee operations with the Air Boss.

The Master Chief was a grizzled man of medium height with close-cropped blonde hair and steel blue eyes. The Master Chief was respected and feared by all aboard. He dispensed sound advice, and savage ass-chewing's, in equal measure, and he had no qualms about giving officers a piece of his mind.

After nearly 30 years spent working on flight decks, Master Chief Davis' skin looked like tanned leather. Davis had seen action aboard the _USS Enterprise _during WWII, and the _USS Essex _in Korea. He was crusty and profane, but wise in the ways of warships, and the men who crewed them.

Harm said, "Good morning Master Chief." Davis was a salty old cuss, but if problems occurred on the flight deck, he could solve them quickly.

"Good morning, Mister Rabb...Mister Boone," Davis replied.

The Master Chief didn't like Tom Boone, and he seldom gave him a friendly greeting.

Boone enjoyed giving the Master Chief a hard time. Unlike Harm, who had graduated from Annapolis, Tom Boone had been Navy ROTC at Iowa State. Tom was not a sailor, and he was fond of using vernacular instead of nautical terms, which included calling the _Ticonderoga _a "boat", and launching his aircraft from the "pointy end" of it.

This frustrated Davis, who was an old blue water sailor, no end.

"Good hunting, Lieutenant Rabb." Davis looked at Tom. "Try to land on the correct ship today, Mister Boone."

"Just leave a light burning on the blunt end of this boat, and I'll spot it," said Tom.

"Mister Boone, I've worn out more sea bags than you've worn out socks. You strike me as being the Air Force type. Why are you in Navy?" the Master Chief asked Tom point blank.

"Master Chief, I like to fly fast and eat good. The Navy has the best rides, and the best chow," said Tom.

Davis reached up with his left hand and wiped his brow. This is what the Navy had come to? And there was even talk of some day allowing women to serve aboard ship. Women!

The Master Chief opened the hatch to allow the two officers to step onto the flight deck, and then he closed it behind them. The _Ticonderoga _was making 25 knots into the wind, and the flight deck was heavy with the smell of steam mixed with JP-5 jet fuel.

Up on the _Tico's _"pointy end", the E-2 Hawkeye early warning aircraft had been launched, with Cherry and Ross in the lead MIGCAP flight following the Fudd.

Back at the "blunt end", Harm was joined by his RIO, Hoot Gibson, and they made their way to their F-4, which Harm had named Sweet Sarah in honor of his mother, Sarah Harmon Rabb.

Brown shirt plane captain, Aerospace Structural Mechanic 3rd Class Andrew Thomas, was waiting for them. As the plane captain, Thomas responsibilities included daily pre-flight and post-flight checks, as well as cockpit switchology and ensuring the canopy was clean.

Petty Officer Thomas' name was stenciled on Harm's F-4, and he treated Sweet Sarah like royalty.

Today's mission was MIGCAP, with a 4X4 intercept load consisting of four radar guided AIM-7 Sparrow missiles, four heat seeking AIM-9 Sidewinders, and a 500 gallon drop tank on the center-line station below the F-4's fuselage.

Red flags were flying from the safety pins of Harm's 8 missiles. He didn't touch them. Once the Phantom was on the cat, the pins would be removed by the red shirt ordnance men.

Harm checked the exterior of his Phantom closely. He needed to ensure there were no leaks, that all of the control surfaces moved freely, and everything that had been attached to the air frame was mounted correctly.

"Have a safe flight, Mister Rabb," said Thomas, who would continue to oversee the Phantom until it was handed her over to a yellow shirted flight deck director.

"I'll try to down a MiG for you today," said Harm.

"Mister Rabb, there's nothing I'd like better than to paint a red star on Sarah, but I just want you back safe."

Once they were inside the cockpit, Harm and Hoot went through the lengthy preflight checklist. When the checklist had been completed, Harm made a few notes on the pad attached to his kneeboard.

Harm received the signal for an engine start and watched as an MD-3A "Huffer" was moved into position along side his Phantom. The Huffer delivered compressed air through a large diameter hose which was connected to the air driven starter of the #1 engine. When #1 had reached 500 RPM, Harm clicked the igniter switch and watched as engine continued to build speed. At 1,500 RPM, Harm turned on the fuel and the JP-5 ignited instantly.

The J79 turbojet was self sustaining at 3,000 RPM, and the Huffer was disconnected and moved away from Harm's Phantom.

That suited Harm fine.

Earlier that year, a Huffer on the _USS Enterprise _was left running too close to an F-4 which was carrying Zuni missiles. Heat from the Huffer's exhaust "cooked off" one of the missiles, which in turn triggered several MK-82 bombs. The resulting conflagration killed 28 men, injured 314, and destroyed 15 aircraft.

Harm brought #1 up to its idle speed of 5,000 RPM and then sent it's bleed air to his #2 engine and lit it off.

When Harm received the go ahead to taxi he gave a thumbs-up to Petty Officer Thomas, who remained on standby while the yellow shirt flight deck director took over control.

Because voice commands could be misunderstood, radio communications between the directors and the pilots were not used. Only hand signals directed aircraft around the flight deck. The signals were universal. As a rule, all signals to pilots were passed above the waist, while signals to others working on the flight deck were given below the waist.

Aircraft taxi routes and launch sequences had been prearranged and were being controlled by Flight Deck Control using the Ouija Board; the most critical tool in coordinating flight operations.

The Ouija Board was a replica of the _Tico's_ flight deck and was about 6 feet long and 3 feet wide; about the size of a large coffee table. Scattered over the board were small templates shaped like aircraft which were made to scale. In theory, anything that would fit on the Ouija Board would fit on the flight deck.

Harm taxied to the catapult where he was shown the weight board. The correct gross weight was critical. Too much power from the steam driven cat could damage the Phantom. Too little power and the Phantom would never get airborne. It would drop off the bow and plunge into the ocean, often with the pilots trapped inside.

Harm confirmed that the indicated weight was correct and the catapult's power was adjusted accordingly. He was given the signal to taxi and to align himself with the catapult.

Green shirted "Hookup Men" approached and helped to guide him.

The F-4 required a bridle for launch. The bridle was a harness made of heavy wire rope, and was attached to fixed points below the fuselage. To perform this crucial task the hookup men had to crawl underneath the Phantom, where Harm couldn't see them.

Harm's life was in the hands of these men, many of whom were just out of high school or had been working at a gas station last year. For most of the ratings who were working on the flight deck, this duty would be the greatest responsibility they'd ever have in their lives.

With the bridle attached, the ordnance men moved forward to connect the electrical pigtails to Harm's missiles. While they were working, no one dared to approach the aircraft.

The ordies' final task was to pull the safety pins on Harm's missiles, and then display the 8 red flags- four held in each hand. Harm counted the flags and gave a thumbs up to the ordie, who quickly retreated.

Sweet Sarah was now armed and deadly.

Once satisfied that everything was good to go, the Green Shirt signaled Harm to extend his front landing gear strut which allowed the aircraft a better angle of attack for launch. Harm cycled through the full range control movements while a white shirted inspector/observer ensured that all the control surfaces moved appropriately. The white shirt also checked for fluid leaks, or any other last minute issues.

Without the troubleshooter's okay, Harm wasn't going anywhere. Period.

Once the white shirt gave the thumbs up, a water cooled blast deflector was raised behind the engine exhausts. The yellow shirt looked both ways before doing two hand signals at once: his left hand was raised with a palm open to indicate "off the brakes", while his right hand was outstretched straight ahead to indicate that the F-4 was to take the full tension of the catapult.

Despite all of the on-deck safety inspections, Harm was ultimately responsible for ensuring that Sarah was ready to launch. He made his final checks: wings down and locked, flaps down and the harness locked. Harm released the brakes and did a final check of his instruments while director passed control to the Shooter, who began furiously waving his hand in the air for the engine "run-up" signal.

Harm advanced the throttles to military power- 100% thrust, and each of his two J79's began billowing clouds of sooty black exhaust.

While the Phantom was straining under the tension, the Shooter did a quick check around the deck and received a thumbs up all around. Now the Shooter pointed to Harm, who saluted him.

The Shooter bent gracefully and touched the deck.

Harm put his head back firmly against the headrest, left elbow locked with the throttles full forward against their mechanical stops, right hand firmly on the stick with his elbow braced against his stomach. An instant later the catapult officer launched the Phantom, and Harm and Hoot were pushed into their seats while they accelerated along the 200 feet of deck at 4 g's.

As the aircraft cleared the bow, Harm heard a thump, and then briefly felt as if he was floating in the air. Even at full power, his engine thrust hadn't quite caught up to the nearly 200 mph launch speed of the catapult.

Once he was clear of the _Ticonderoga_, Harm raised the landing gear and to ensure separation between himself and any aircraft launched from the ship's second catapult, then he performed a 10° "clearing turn".

It was a beautiful day for flying in the Tonkin Gulf. If this had been a training flight, Harm would have performed some of the aerobatics he'd practiced with the Blue Angels. These maneuvers thrilled Hoot, who constantly bragged to the other RIO's about Harm's skill at the controls.

Not this morning. This morning Harm and Hoot on Government Time.

Tom Boone launched 30 seconds behind Harm, and after catching up, he took his usual position on Harm's right. Boone gave a thumbs up, which his friend returned.

This was the type of mission which the two aviators had constantly trained for. Harm and Tom were expected to control the airspace they patrolled and establish complete dominance over any enemy aircraft they encountered.

They had the tool to do it. In late 1969 the F-4J Phantom II was the most powerful and advanced fighter aircraft on the planet.

Today, Harmon Rabb Sr. and his best friend, Tom Boone, would put their two Phantom's to the ultimate test.


	2. Chapter 2

The air combat story which you are about to read is, for the most part, based on true events. I was not in the Gulf of Tonkin in December 1969- I was in grade school, but "Bill" made two combat deployments between May 1971 and April 1973 on board _USS Midway._ This story would not have been possible without his help and guidance. Thank you for your service, Bill.

* * *

MIGCAP

Chapter 2

20,000 feet above the Tonkin Gulf and inside the E-2 Hawkeye called Liberty Bell-10, Aviation Warfare Systems Operator Terry Duffy saw two quick, close together, returns. Duffy watched the blips for two more sweeps and tracked them moving south along the coast of North Vietnam at high speed.

Duffy evaluated the aircraft as hostiles, and raised Al Cherry in Fairfield One.

After receiving the MiG's position, Cherry looked at his fuel gauges. He and Bill Ross had been on station for over 45 minutes and would needed to tank in another 30. Harmon Rabb and Tom Boone had joined up with them just ten minutes ago, and their internal tanks would be full.

"Bad Man One from Fairfield One," Cherry called.

"Go ahead, Buster," said Harm.

"Hammer, if the MiGs run, we won't have the gas to chase them down. You take them."

"We've got them. Bad Man Two...kick the tanks," and Harm and Tom each jettisoned their center-line fuel tank.

With their F-4's streamlined and ready for the hunt, Harm gave an open-palm signal to Boone, who automatically dropped back three quarters of a mile and into combat spread. Both aircraft turned 90 degrees and headed for the City of Vinh, which was a major transportation hub in North Vietnam.

Harm and Tom had been to Vinh many times before.

The Phantoms crossed the North Vietnamese coastline flying at 12,000 feet. Harm called "feet dry," and his adrenaline began to pump. This region of North Vietnam had one of the most intensive air defense systems in the world; a deadly combination of fighters, anti-aircraft guns and radar guided Surface to Air missiles.

"Flak at ten o'clock-low!" Hoot called out.

Harm looked down and saw a few innocent white puffs. "No sweat," he said.

Once clear of the flak, Hoot located the two bandits on his radar scope when they were still 20 miles out. He gave their position to Harm, who passed it to Boone.

"Bad Man Two, I have two bandits on the nose at 20."

"Lets go and get 'em, Hammer." The last time Tom Boone had encountered a MiG, he was flying an F-8 Crusader, a single engine fighter. Now that he was in the more capable F-4 Phantom, Boone was spoiling for a fight.

As Harm's wingman, Tom Boone had three primary responsibilities: never lose sight of his leader, to warn Harm of any aircraft that were an immediate threat, which meant approaching firing position from rear quadrants, and to support Harm when he engaged the MiGs. Having flown together for years, Boone instinctively knew what Harm would do in any given situation and he always maintained the proper position to support him.

As the four aircraft closed, Hoot called out the distance until he looked up and saw two silver MIG-21 Fishbeds pass high above them.

The MiG's didn't fire a shot. The Fishbeds raced up the Ca River, heading for the mountains along the border with Laos.

Harm smelled a trap. The river was lined with SAM sites and flak traps, but he wasn't about to back off. This was as close as Harm had ever been to a MiG, and he could smell blood.

Harm rolled into a chandelle; a climbing 180 degree turn, to get into a firing envelope above and behind the MiGs.

The two Phantoms were closing fast when the MiGs broke left and flew into a cloud bank.

Flying into a cloud over North Vietnam could be deadly. Vietnamese radar operators could track American aircraft through the clouds and then launch Surface to Air missiles.

The Phantom's sophisticated electronics could detect a launch, but the best defense against a SAM was visual detection. Inside the cloud, Harm and Tom were blind, and it's what you can't see that usually kills you.

After thirty seconds inside the cloud, Harm had had enough. The F-4's broke through the cloud at 14,000 feet, and into what appeared to be an empty sky.

Having learned his lesson form their Thanksgiving Day mission, Hoot was no long spectating. He kept his head on a swivel to act as a second pair of eyes for Harm.

Hoot spotted one MiG climbing 2,000 feet above them. "MiG at 2 o'clock, climbing right turn."

"Where's number two?" asked Harm.

"I can't find him," said Hoot.

"Tom, can you see number two?" Harm asked Boone.

"Negative. Take number one, I'll cover."

"Tally ho!" Harm lit the afterburners of his twin J79's and felt the punch of 35,000 pounds of thrust propelling Sweet Sarah towards the MiG with a vengeance.

* * *

On paper, the match up between the F-4J Phantom II and the MiG-21 Fishbed wasn't even close: the F-4 was the clear leader in nearly every performance category. But statisticians weren't flying in the skies above North Vietnam. It was a battle of individual aviators: mano-a-mano.

North Vietnamese pilots were aware of their aircraft's limitations and seldom pushed the envelope. They played to their aircraft's strengths: the Fishbed was small and nimble, and was capable of pulling tremendous G-loads. A MiG-21 could easily out turn the much larger F-4.

The Phantom, while fast and powerful, had been designed as an air superiority fighter and was not a true dogfighter. Many an F-4 had been out maneuvered by a clever Fishbed pilot, and then fell victim to the MiG's deadly twin-barreled 23mm automatic cannon.

The Fishbed's biggest shortcoming was its limited range, which meant the MiG-21's tactics were usually gun and run. Instead of shooting, this MiG was running, and Harm wasn't sure why.

Harm caught the Fishbed in a climb. It was losing energy, and energy in air to air combat, whether climbing, diving, or turning, is easily lost, difficult to maintain, and harder than hell to recover.

Harm had gained the advantage. His first kill was just sitting there, waiting to be taken. Harm imagined how beautiful Sarah would look when she was painted with a big red star. In the backseat, Hoot imagined his own increase in status among the squadron's other RIO's when Harm blew the MiG to pieces.

"Set up for a Sparrow," Harm told Hoot.

"I can't get a lock," Hoot announced. The radar in the F-4 was analog and it took a minimum of four seconds to search out a target and then download the data into the radar guided missile and make it ready for launch. In aerial combat, four seconds was a lifetime.

"We're in range for a Sidewinder," said Harm. He pitched his nose up and selected the AIM-9 Sidewinder, a short range heat seeking missile. Harm listened in his headset for the missile's signal and he could hear its seeking tone.

When the tone over the headset changed to a growl, Harm knew that he had a lock-on.

"FOX-2." Harm strained to see the missile track, but lost sight of it and quickly fired a second Sidewinder.

Both missiles were tracking, but Sidewinders always lead their target. Changes in heading caused the missiles to make constant course corrections, so when the MiG pilot pulled a sustained 8 g right turn he defeated them both.

Harm couldn't believe it. This was as close as he had ever been to a MiG and he'd missed!

The MiG pilot began mocking his adversary. He nosed over into a spiraling dive, daring Harm to follow.

With Boone keeping watch for the second MiG, Harm kicked over into a diving chase. His F-4 had both weight and thrust advantage, and the two planes hurtled towards the ground a nearly Mach 1.

Harm was closing on the MiG too fast. He had miscalculated his dive and was going to overshoot the Fishbed and place himself in easy range of its powerful cannon.

This was exactly what the North Vietnamese pilot wanted. He'd done it before.

Harm was livid at his rookie mistake. This was something that a nugget would do, and not an experienced aviator who had been a member of the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Team.

Harm cleared Tom for the lead. "Take him." Harm rolled left, making way for Boone, who barrel rolled to the outside to improve his angle to the MiG's tail.

Perfectly positioned, Boone selected a Sidewinder, but the MiG snapped right and began pulling serious G's; too many for a Sidewinder to achieve a lock.

Boone pitched up and rolled again; skillfully coordinating the stick, rudder and ailerons until he was back into firing position.

"Going for a Sparrow," Boone announced. He switched to the AIM-7 Sparrow radar guided missile and then waited what should be four seconds for his backseater to get a radar lock.

_One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four, one thousand five, one thousand six! God damn you, Bond..._

"What are you doing back there!" Boone demanded over the intercom.

"Locked...shoot!" Archie Bond screamed from the backseat. The word "fire" was never used inside an aircraft.

Boone called, "FOX One!"

The Sparrow cleared the fuselage, but its rocket motor failed to ignite. Harm was in trail and watched dumbfounded as the missile, which cost more than a dozen brand new Cadillac's, fell to earth like a brick.

Boone didn't flinch. He instantly triggered a second Sparrow. Its rocket motor ignited, but the missile went corkscrewing away without getting near the MiG. Boone launched a third Sparrow. This one had a good track, streaking through the sky at Mach 2.5 and homing in on the fast descending MiG.

The Fishbed broke hard left. The missile should have followed, but it failed to track and flew off into the distance.

Three missiles, three misses. "That son of a bitch leads a charmed life," said Boone, who was thoroughly frustrated.

Both aircraft were now in a dive, and they were running out of altitude. "Five thousand," Archie Bond cautioned.

"I'm watching it." Boone's tone was clipped. Now he was the one in danger of overshooting.

Boone nosed up to bleed off speed while MiG broke into another high-G, hard right turn.

Boone had anticipated the turn. He had the Fishbed lined up, got a radar lock, and fired his last Sparrow.

The missile appeared to be running off course, but then it suddenly barrel rolled and rode the Phantom's radar beam to the target.

When the Sparrow was within 10 feet of the MiG's underside, its 65 pound warhead detonated and showered the Fishbed with a blast of hardened steel rods. The MiG's left wing was instantly ripped away from the fuselage and the little fighter exploded in a tumbling a fireball.

"Got him. I got him!" shouted Boone.

"Run it up on the scoreboard," Harm confirmed.

"I see a chute," said Boone, who was amazed that the pilot had managed to eject from the fireball. "Cover me while I wave to him."

"I'll cover," said Harm. This was the perfect situation for an ambush, and Harm kept watch for the second MiG.

Boone jinked left and went around the parachuting pilot, passing less than 200 feet from him.

The pilot was wearing a black flight suit and he had a white silk scarf around his neck. His oxygen mask and helmet had been ripped away so that Boone could see his face as plain as day.

There were empty sockets where eyeballs should have been.

The MiG pilot's parachute was smoldering. When the canopy started burning, Boone watched as the man began falling faster and faster, until he lost sight of him.

"Poor bastard," Boone said under his breath. Only a minute ago, Tom Boone had wanted to kill that man. Now he bore him no grudge.

Inside Harm's F-4, Hoot spotted the second MiG. "Fishbed, 8 o'clock low and heading east."

Harm looked down saw the little silver jet moving at 300 knots. He still had six missiles remaining and now had the chance to score a kill for himself.

"Harm, we're at bingo plus 3," Hoot warned.

They were low on fuel and deep inside North Vietnam, and getting close to the border with Laos; a line which they were forbidden to (officially) cross. If they were forced down here, capture and a long stay in the Hanoi Hilton was a near certainty.

Risking four lives and two aircraft for something so selfish as getting a kill of his own was out of the question. "Bad Man Two, let's head for the boat," said Harm.

"You're the boss."

"Bad Man One, this is Liberty Ten."

"Go ahead, Fudd."

"The whale is on station and waiting for you."

"Thanks. Estimate twenty minutes to rendezvous with the whale," said Harm.

"Roger, Bad Man. We will be rolling out the red carpet for Bad Man Two."

"Better than pulling the rug out from under me!" said Boone, who was thinking back to his ass chewing on Thanksgiving Day. [See my other story, "**When Your Only Tool Is A Hammer."]**

* * *

"Prince" Phillips was on time and on station with the whale. Harm and Tom tanked without incident, and the flight back to the _Tico _was routine.

As the two F-4s approached the _Tico, _Harm pulled up and out of the way while Boone flew alongside the ship and performed a victory roll, which brought a cheer from everyone on deck. Although the flight leader normally traps first, Harm insisted that Tom land ahead of him. Boone spiked it on with a perfect trap; hooking the three-wire with a vengeance.

When Boone's F-4 reached its parking spot, the ship's photographers were waiting. This was VF-111's first kill since September, 1968, so in addition to breaking the squadron's 15 month drought, Tom Boone's MiG was The Sundowners first ever kill in an F-4 Phantom.

US Navy policy was that the pilot and the RIO were jointly awarded a kill, so Boone and Bond posed together in front of their Phantom, which sported a newly painted red star with a yellow border on it's left air intake.

Tom Boone felt that Archie Bond was little better than backseat-ballast, and Bond considered Boone to be a tyrant, but for the cameras the two men were smiling and shaking hands like they were best friends.

While the photographers surrounded Boone and Bond, Harm and Hoot stood next to their own F-4.

"I'm sorry, Hoot. I let us both down today," Harm said.

"We're a team, Harm. I should have given you a setup on the Sparrow before you launched the Sidewinders. If I had done a better job, we'd have bagged that MiG."

So far as Hoot was concerned, he wouldn't climb into an F-4 if Harmon Rabb wasn't at the controls.

Harm's plane captain, Petty officer Andrew Thomas, approached. When Thomas had learned that Tom Boone had made the kill, he was afraid that something had gone wrong with Harm's aircraft.

"Mister Rabb, was there a problem with Sarah?" Thomas asked.

"Sarah was perfect. I'm the one who screwed up," Harm admitted.

"Don't worry, sir. You'll get your MiG," said Thomas, who immediately began checking over Sweet Sarah. She would be refueled and rearmed, and made ready to go back to work.

* * *

During the debriefing, all of those present were hanging on Tom Boone's every word, including Harmon Rabb, who downplayed his own involvement while making it sound as though the kill was Tom's from the start.

"I was caught completely out of position and had to take a couple of wild Sidewinder shots. Luckily, Tom was there to pick up the slack," said Harm.

A brief celebration followed in the wardroom. Tom got a pat on the back from Captain Brian "Buzzard" Bryant, the Commander of the _Ticonderoga's _air wing. A week earlier, Bryant had wanted to ground Boone for violating radio protocol. Now the CAG was calling Tom "One of his boys".

After a quick lunch, Harm and Tom headed to the Aircraft Intelligence (AI) office.

Aircraft from the _USS Constellation, _a _Kitty Hawk- _class "super carrier", and the _Tico's _sister ship on Yankee Station, were currently over the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The Air Force would hit the trail in the late evening, and then the _Tico_'s aircraft would strike the trail again, this time at night.

Night missions meant night traps, which no one enjoyed.

The weather was already changing. What had been a beautiful day was fast turning ugly.

Harm and Tom returned to their cabin where they would have a few hours rest before their upcoming mission.

Tom Boone flopped into his rack and marveled at how fast his fortunes had changed. In the span of a few short hours he had gone from zero to hero. After all, Harmon Rabb was the poster boy for naval aviation. Harm was an Annapolis graduate, and he had been a Blue Angel. Harm was also tall and handsome, and he had a pretty young wife and an adoring 6 year old son.

Harm seemed to catch every break. But not today.

Today, Tom Boone, the oldest of eight children of an Iowa dirt farmer, and the first member of his family to graduate from high school, let alone attend a university, had grabbed the spotlight.

Harm was already reaching for his tape recorder to send the news of the MiG kill home.

_Hi Trish. I'm in the cabin with a celebrity. No, Bob Hope isn't aboard. It's Tom. He downed a MiG today, and it's our squadron's first kill in an F-4. _Harm passed Boone the microphone._ Tom, say a few words to your fans back in the States._

_Hi Trish. It's the guy you should have married. Christmas came early for me today. I was in the right place at the right time, and with the right flight leader, _and Boone passed the microphone back to Harm.

_Sweetheart, as long as Tom is my wingman, you don't have a thing to worry about..._

* * *

Tom Boone went on to serve as an instructor at the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Program- Top Gun. During Boone's stint at Top Gun, his MiG kill would be studied and reenacted by scores of students.

Half a century later the lessons that Tom Boone had learned in the skies above North Vietnam are being passed along to a new generations of naval aviators.


End file.
